


In Search Of Eldorado

by cartouche



Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Where things are happier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/cartouche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets seen through everyone else's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search Of Eldorado

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muzivitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzivitch/gifts).



Adrian Veidt is blindingly brilliant. A complete asshole, but brilliant nonetheless. He’s left Doug stuck somewhere between awe and queasiness, almost too perfect, perched lithely against the edge of his desk. His group of lackeys circle carefully, vultures waiting for a carcass to appear. The purple tie is goddamn ridiculous, yet somehow he pulls it off with a quiet flair.

Seriously screw this guy.

He's dug around for years on him, privately, between columns and articles, scrabbling for clues and hints, but Veidt was good. Everything was neatly brushed under a carpet, hidden or forgotten or destroyed. All that was left was a carefully constructed history, no skeletons in any closets. Occasionally there’d be a whisper on a grapevine somewhere, but despite all the money and research and sketchy meetings Doug threw at them, nothing ever surfaced. Veidt was powerful, connected, clever, and all the whispers died out sooner or later.

All that was left was to try and lure it out of him, face to face. His editor had taken a hell of a lot of convincing.

‘Do you think … ‘

The camera clicks. Rain streaks its way down the huge windows gazing out over the dizzying heights of Manhattan. Everything is setup just the way Veidt wants it, from his perfectly slicked hair to the sprig of orange flowers sprouting from a vase in the corner. Hell, Adrian Veidt probably even wanted it to rain today.

Click.

‘The other Watchmen resent me for prostituting their struggle? It’s a fair question.’

Does nothing ruffle this guy? Everything in his life is precise, planned. Not even a surprise interview from a renowned reporter seems to get under his skin. Adrian Veidt is, as ever, the man with all the answers.

Click. He doesn't want to hear the spiel about renewable resources, the same words plastered over every financial headline for the last 6 months. Veidt promises free energy.

He almost misses _it_.

Well, not so much an _it_ , as a _him_. A mousy guy, dark hair and thick glasses sitting awkwardly by the careful display of Veidt action figures. He could be the next meeting, of course, but somehow Doug doesn't think Veidt usually overlaps appointments. Besides, this guy doesn't fit in. He’s the one thing in this clinical, neo-modernist office that doesn't fit with clean lines and dark grey granite. The interview is over, he’s being shut down and shuffled out, forcefully polite. His photographer’s packing up and Veidt’s assistant is eagerly edging him towards the lifts. Doug watches him go, frustrated, empty handed, once again outplayed by the Smartest Man in the World. He watches him glide across the room, adjusting a cufflink, unfazed. The mousy guy stands to greet him, words to quiet even for Doug’s straining ears. Fine, time to drop this whole thing.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Adrian Veidt, who might as well be carved from marble for all he’s ever shown true human emotion, smiles. And not the press smile, strewn across front covers and billboards and TV channels, a genuine, unguarded smile. Then he hugs the guy.

Doug almost chokes, covering it with a cough into his hand as he’s ushered into the elevator, the cute blonde assistant doing a wonderful job of blocking his view into the room, obscuring any further gems of information as she presses the button for the lobby. The smooth doors slide shut soundlessly, and he gets one last glimpse of the office. Veidt is laughing, genuinely, head tilted in amusement as he stares fondly at the other guy who’s shyly ducking his smile, hands nervously polishing his glasses. The doors slide shut.

With a smooth drop he feels the elevator begin its descent, but his mind stays in that room, frantically tripping over the ideas suddenly rushing around. This - This is better than any interview: a glimpse into Adrian Veidt’s personal life. Who is this bespectacled man, who Adrian invites into his office, who cuts short interviews? A friend? More?

Time to start digging in a different direction.

* * *

 

Recently all it seems to do is rain. Heavy clouds hang over the city, dark and foreboding, a leaden sky. Even the rain can't seem to wash the streets clean of grime and filthy. At least business is still good. Good enough.

She wipes her hands down over her greying apron, picks at a loose thread, before picking up the pot of coffee. It looks like tar under the stark fluorescent lights, swirling thickly, almost black. Still, it’s hot and tastes fine. It'll do.

The diner is quiet, only a few booths holding their most regular patrons, slumped and tired, scraping cutlery over chipped china. Outside she can see the dim glow of the sign reflected in the shine of wet pavement. It’s late, they’ll close up in an hour. Maybe the rain will stop.

She makes her way round the booths, quietly cursing eyes too tired for makeup to cover and the short skirt of this ridiculous uniform. She’d had dreams once, now she has tips and aching feet. She leaves her favourite booth until last, perking up and letting her lips curve into a smile as she leans down across the cracked red linoleum seats.

‘Refill, Dan?’ She hides a laugh as he blinks owlishly up at her for a moment, before his face creases into that shy smile she loves. He’s cute, and about the best looking thing around at this time of night, barring the donuts oozing behind the glass display on the countertop. She’ll see if she can talk Jerry into letting her take one home tonight.

‘Please, yeah.’ He fumbles the cup towards her, before slipping off his glasses, hands automatically grabbing a square of cloth from his pocket. Dan always polishes his glasses when he’s nervous.

She peers back into the kitchen, but Jerry’s out of sight, and she takes the opportunity to sit down, feet groaning with relief as she slides into the booth. Dan won't mind, she's sure of it. ‘You’re here late tonight. Better watch out that you don't get locked in here when we close up.’ If her smile is wider or she’s batting her lashes a bit, there’s no harm in trying. She still daydreams one day he’ll notice and do something about it. Until then, he always tips generously.

‘That late already, huh?’ Glasses slide back on to his face and his eyes flick down to his watch. A shadow of a frown passes between his brows before he fixes a smile back on his lips. ‘Guess I’ll have to head home soon.’

Damn, she doesn't want to be left here, bored and at Jerry’s mercy. ‘There’s always time for a quick slice of pie, I still have a few left out back, cherry or coconut cream I think. D’you want one?’

She watches him hesitate, Dan always loves pie, especially fresh made. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, then shakes his head. ‘That’s very kind Karen, but I should get going.’ His hands reach for his coat, tugging out his wallet as he shuffles across the seat.

The bell on the door dings, and she jumps out of the seat, briefly hearing the steady patter of raindrops before the door thunks shut. She brushes down her skirt, pasting that same smile on her lips and grabbing her tray and coffee before twisting on the scuffed checkered floor, turning to face the new customer.

She almost drops the tray. She does drop her smile. An umbrella is placed carefully into the holder by the door.

It'd be impossible to pretend she doesn’t know who the tall figure waiting gracefully for her jaw to reattach itself is, but she does her best, and doesn't think of the billboard opposite the diner with the same sharp features looming over them. He’s even more imposing in real life, somehow, more handsome, more elegant. His suit looks more expensive than her whole apartment.

Adrian Veidt is standing in her diner.

She wobbles up to him, pushing down the starstruck, throbbing heart down her throat and does her best not to be intimidated.

‘Good evening sir, and welcome to the Golden Spoon! Can I get you a seat and our menu?’

He fixes her with a vaguely bemused look and a patient smile. His voice is softer than she imagined it, faintly accented. She feels like she’s going to melt. ‘No, thank you. I’m simply here to see an old friend. Could you direct me to Daniel’s table, please?’

He’s here for Dan? Dan knows _Adrian Veidt_? She gapes for a moment, before nodding, smiling and gesturing. ‘Of course sir, if you’d like to follow me.’ She realises it’s a futile task, as she turns, because Dan is already standing by his booth, one arm in his overcoat, relief painted over his face. The smile he gives Adrian Veidt is dazzling, and knocks the breath out of her. Still, she dutifully leads him over, retrieving the coffee pot and sinking into the background as they near each other. Dan struggles into the rest of his coat before turning to face the other man, eyes bright and warm. He looks nothing like the man who sat in that booth 5 minutes ago.

‘Adrian!’ And with that he lurches forward, grinning wildly, arms wrapping around deep purple silk. To her surprise, the other man simply huffs, accepting the hug with a dignified smile, his own limbs closing briefly around scratchy wool. They part, shining at each other, so out of place in a dingy downtown restaurant. The rain keeps falling. Dan looks like he’s going to laugh.

‘My apologies for the time, Daniel, I’m afraid my research teams are quite persistent when they have made a breakthrough.’ She watches his face shift into something remorseful as he looks at the other man. ‘It was not my intention to keep you waiting so long.’

Dan shakes his head, hands rising to adjust his glasses before he retrieves his wallet from the table top. ‘Don’t be stupid Adrian, you’re still here. Although I had almost given up hope.’ His fingers flip the leather open, reaching in, when a graceful hand taps lightly at his arm.

‘Please, allow me. It’s the least I can do after wasting most of the evening.’ Dan huffs, paused, and Karen recognises that stubborn look on his face, the same as when he’d ordered 4 doughnuts and was determined to finish them all. She expects him to make a fuss, say he can pay his own bills. His shoulders slump and his eyes roll. The wallet is folded back into his pocket.

‘Fine, just this once.’ It’s met with an indulgent smile, and too many bills are placed neatly on the table. Dan’s grin reasserts itself, and if she isn't mistaken, the look that he throws at Adrian Veidt is almost coy. ‘There’s still plenty of evening left for us to enjoy. As long as your research team don't need you at the crack of dawn tomorrow.’

The smile widens, genuine and he nods, slowly. ‘I think I can arrange to be left undisturbed for a few hours. Even I deserve time off occasionally.’ She turns away as they move back towards the door, hears Dan’s quiet laugh and the rustle of nylon as the umbrella is removed. She doesn't turn until the bell on the door tinkles into silence. It all seems like a surreal dream. Jerry potters about in the kitchen. The rain pounds the pavement. There’s $400 on the table.

She laughs, but no one pays much attention.

* * *

 

Veidt International is easily the biggest, and best, employer in North America. Every worker gets well paid, prepared pension schemes, included healthcare and dental plans. It dominates every financial sector, from media and children’s toys to agriculture and biotechnology. At the top of this pile sits Debra.

It wasn’t easy, fighting her way to the top from a lowly accounting clerk, but it was worth every sacrifice. Sure, some may call her cutthroat, but with the apartment she can afford now, who cares what people are saying.

Not that the job wasn’t challenging, and being Veidt’s PA certainly had downsides, like his exceptionally long office hours and reduced holiday time, but those shopping trips to Barneys make every second worth it.

Her watch says it’s just turned 7, as she strides on pointed stilettos through the quiet foyer, nodding at the bored looking security guard behind the desk as she heads to the elevators. Most of New York are only just waking up, crawling sleepily out of bed, but she knows for a fact Adrian has been awake for at least an hour already.

Sometimes she thinks he’s inhuman.

The elevator pings quietly, and she steps inside the glass box, swiping her access card for his office floor. The atrium falls away beneath her feet, the first few people trickling their way in. In an hour it will be teaming with people, researchers, accountants, tech services, deliveries. At 9 the public tours begin for the day, at 9.45 they have the meeting with the Gulf Oil board of directors, 10.30 is the CNN interview, and then a 12 o’clock lunch with Thomas Watson Jnr. In fact Adrian’s whole day is non-stop, from 7 until too late.

Except for the 2pm slot. That is always suspiciously empty on a Thursday. Still, even Adrian Veidt must need time off.

She steps out on to the 65th floor, pausing to place her bag on her desk and to log in to her computer before heading towards the pacing figure silhouetted against the New York skyline behind him. She always found it breathtaking. Adrian never seemed to have much time for the view. She stops by his desk, patiently waiting for the hushed, urgent phone conversation to end, quietly attempting to figure out what has got her boss so riled. Of course to anyone else he’d look positively serene, but Debra prides herself on knowing everything, and for Adrian pacing is practically the same as screaming. She focuses once she hears a cursory goodbye, smiling as she steps forward, clipboard in hand.

‘Good morning Mr Veidt, would you like to run through today’s schedule?’ The smile she’s given doesn’t get anywhere near his eyes.

‘Yes of course, but some changes first.’ This is new. Adrian never changes his schedule. He lets the world fit around him first. ‘The 2 o’clock is still open, yes?’ She nods, eyes flicking down, pen poised and ready. Nothing ever goes in the 2 o’clock. ‘The Texaco CEO is insisting we have a meeting today, I’ve put him in for 2 o’clock. And -’ He pauses, and now she frowns. Adrian never pauses. ‘Clear everything after 5. I don’t care what you have to tell them. If they need an excuse, I’ve had to fly to Karnak unexpectedly and will not be available until tomorrow. You may also take the evening off, of course.’ It’s a shock, but not unpleasant. She’s needed some time off recently, because no amount of concealer is starting to cover the dark circles beneath her eyes.

‘Do you need me to prepare a flight for you, Mr Veidt? His gaze is distant, somewhere out over the climbing glass peaks of the city.

‘No, thank you. Although I would appreciate it if you could stall my 8 o’clock, briefly, I have a phone call to make.’

The day rushes by.

She not sure why she’s still here. Well, she is, Veidt International is a never ending pit of meetings and paperwork, and she knows if not now, she’ll have to do it tomorrow instead. It’s only 5.30, still far earlier than her knock off most days. Maybe she’ll even run a bath, get out the rose petals and really relax.

Adrian’s been at his desk for the last half an hour, but there’s no tell tale tapping of keys or the soft scritch of pen on paper. He’s not working, just pretending to read,flicking aimlessly through the pages of Ramses II, even though she knows it’s his favourite. She’d say he was nervous, worried even, if the great Adrian Veidt could feel emotions like that. Maybe he can.

She’s crouching down, repacking her bag, touching up her lipstick in case she runs into James, the cute one from HR that she’s planning to ask to lunch, when the elevator slides quietly on to the floor. On an instinct, she stays crouched down, hiding behind her desk as the doors part. Adrian thinks she’s already gone, after all.

The man who steps out is vaguely familiar, she’s seen him a few times in the building, marked on to Adrian’s schedule. A name floats up to match to the face: Dan Dreiberg. Quiet and forgettable, really the only thing Debra starkly remembers about him are the horrible ensembles of brown and green and orange that he puts on his body. Hardly Versace.

Peeking out over the top of her desk, she catches a glimpse of dark hair, the light catching off of thick lenses, another equally bad suit. Still, this Dreiberg seems a little less _mousy_ , and more tired, annoyed even. He strides towards Adrian’s desk with a weighted sigh, arms folding like a heavy barrier across his chest.

5 more minutes won't hurt. Even if she is technically spying on her own boss.

‘Daniel … You came. I’m glad.’ She can’t believe that Adrian sounds so _anxious_. This is a man who faces down multibillion corporations daily, Debra didn’t think anything could scare him. Except for apparently shy guys in ill fitting suits.

‘You’d better give me a good reason after blowing me off this afternoon, Adrian.’ This afternoon? That would make Dreiberg the 2 o’clock slot. Curious. ‘I’m starting to believe this company is the only thing you care about.’ She watches her boss stand, stepping towards the other man.

‘The Texaco CEO, he insisted-’

He’s cut off by Dreiberg’s derivative snort. She waits for Adrian to put him in his place, to cut him down, not stand for this. Instead his head twists away, gaze dropping. ‘ _Of course_ he insisted, and you put him above me. You always said, no matter what, Thursday afternoon. But you can’t even keep simple promises.’ The words are harsh and if she believed Adrian could flinch, he would be. A thick silence stretches out between them, before Dreiberg sighs, turns away. ‘I’d better go, mustn't keep your next appointment waiting.’

He’s almost by the elevator doors when Adrian finds his voice again. ‘There is no next appointment. I cancelled everything tonight.’ That causes a pause in Dan’s marching and there’s a hopeful note in his voice as he continues. ‘I’d like to make it up to you. If you’d let me.’

Dan’s too close and she ducks down, hidden, only hears his sigh, the creak of his shoes as he turns. ‘How long have you got?’

‘Until tomorrow. I cancelled everything. Nothing and no one will disturb us.’ Another pause. ‘I promise.’ Her muscles are starting to protest from being in an awkward position so long, shoes digging into the back of her heels. Damn it, she should have left long ago, shouldn't have pried into her boss’ private life. The bubble bath is looking further away.

Dan huffs out a quiet laugh and she hears him move back towards Adrian. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she glances up into the office again, watching Dreiberg approach, cautious but optimistic. ‘You suck at keeping those.’ That pulls a smile from Adrian, whose hands gently wrap around terrible corduroy, pulling the other man closer.

‘I’d like to cook dinner for you, upstairs.’ Adrian’s penthouse suite? No one ever went up there, not that Debra hadn’t tried.

‘That may be an acceptable apology.’ Her knees are killing her, but she’s transfixed. They’re close, just inches apart, and she can see Adrian’s smile broaden, Dreiberg’s dropping awkwardly to closely inspect his toes. ‘As long as dessert is provided too.’

Adrian laughs, brief but imperceptibly relieved, and Debra thinks she might keel over from shock. Adrian Veidt never _laughs_. Then he tugs Dan closer, closing the last few inches between them, and their lips touch.

It takes Debra a moment to register that lips touching equates to kissing, which is certainly what she is now watching her boss and this odd, shy guy now do, rather ardently, at which point her left ankle gives out and she really does keel over, hitting her bag with a soft thud and a hiss.

She freezes. The silence is palpable.

‘It’s alright Debra, you can go home now.’

She appears from behind the desk, perfect blonde curls faintly askew, bag slung over her right elbow, and a mortified smile on her face. Her ankles hurt but all she can think about is getting through those elevator doors and as far away from the building as possible. Fortunately Dreiberg looks just as humiliated and Adrian only looks faintly bemused. He must of known she was there all along. Damn.

‘Thank you Mr Veidt. I hope you and Mr Dreiberg have a lovely evening.’ It’s barely a squeak and then they watch her hurrying to the lift, dashing inside and pressing the down button. The doors close and Adrian turns, admiring the pretty blush spread over Dan’s cheeks.

‘I think we will have a lovely evening after all.’

**Author's Note:**

> 19th century poets are my passion. As are blond german CEOs and their adorable jewish boyfriends apparently. My thanks to muzivitch for inspiring this.
> 
> I haven't written in a year and a half, be gentle.


End file.
